I woke suddenly, shaking off the nightmare. It was just a newspaper. Seeing my obituary wasn't like drawing a Tarot Death card. It meant nothing.

Still.

I went downstairs, hoping to find fresh coffee and my husband. I'd apologise. The argument had been completely my fault.

"Morning baby," I said brightly. "Listen..."

He'd been crouched, his back to me, when I walked in. He stood and turned, not answering.

That's when I saw the knife in his hand, dripping. That's when I saw me, a blossoming rose spreading across my front, a hole at its centre.

That's when I screamed.